


Nil Inultum Remanebit (Dies Irae)

by etoilecourageuse



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen, Hatred, Memory Loss, Resurrection, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8402371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/pseuds/etoilecourageuse
Summary: There is nothing left within her, and yet she seems to be burning.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [originally](https://archiveofourown.org/users/originally/gifts).



> Happy Halloween, dear originally! I saw your prompts and immediately knew that I had to jump into writing Stoneheart for you - I've always been so fascinated by her and was only waiting for an opportunity to explore her a bit further. She's such an incredibly tragic character. I really hope that you enjoy this!

She opened her eyes, and the world was strange to her. She opened her eyes and looked into strange faces, could hear strange voices whisper, perhaps to her. She opened her eyes and had no memory of anything, anything at all. She opened her eyes, unaware whether before this moment she had lived at all, unaware of what had been before she had been laid to rest, and become one with the river. 

She opened her eyes, and she hated. 

There was nothing within her, nothing at all, and yet she seemed to be burning, yet the place where her heart had once been was ablaze with pure hatred. There was nothing... Nothing with the exceptions of two names that had all suddenly crossed her mind, names that she could not recall having spoken out before, names that she would now repeat silently within her thoughts almost like a prayer. 

Ned. Robb. 

How could it be possible that she knew nothing of them, that they were so far from her, yet that she longed so to reach for them, that she longed so for revenge? How? Ned. Robb. 

The voices had not fallen silent; still the men were surrounding her, speaking to her and calling her by a name that could not possibly her own, a name that meant nothing to her. 

Lady Catelyn. Lady Stark.

Perhaps it had once belonged to her after all, but not any more, not any longer. It was nothing now, would only be of true importance if they had once carried it, too. 

Ned. Robb. 

They spoke to her, never ceasing to speak, but she would meet them only with silence. Why should she respond to empty words, why should she even look at these men? 

She could see within their eyes, wide open with terror, that they were afraid, could see that they were looking at the gaping wound upon her throat. The wound had never closed her long ceased to bleed, would hinder her from speaking even if she were intending to make use of her voice; even if to speak had a purpose. 

Perhaps she ought to cover her wounds, each of them tales of long-forgotten sorrow, long-forgotten agony. But no. She would not, would wear these marks with pride, as may the bear a warning to those who were to wrong her. 

They would hang. There would be no mercy, they all would hang, undeserving of life, and not be granted a quick death. The traitors would hang, and she would not allow herself to rest until she had watched the last of them fall. 

Ned. Robb. Their names would be a part of her forever, would be within her into all eternity, as the only remnant of a life long past, as the only memory for her to treasure.

She hated. There was merely hate left within her; she had turned into stone. And she was free, free at last, relieved of her burdens, free to seek those she would force herself to remember, those who had ever dared to betray her. 

She hated.


End file.
